


poor, helpless baby

by sweetchems



Series: of blood and mind games [2]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Fingering, Begging, Choking, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dirty Talk, Finger Sucking, Frank Iero Is STILL A Dumbass, M/M, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pet Names, Possessive Behavior, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Riding, Straitjacket used for bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 13:16:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18152348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetchems/pseuds/sweetchems
Summary: Frank's (feeble) will versus Gerard's obscenity and flirting.





	poor, helpless baby

**Author's Note:**

> frank no. seriously u dumb bitch nO??????  
> disclaimer please dont fuck psychopaths sincerely ur hellish internet parent ash

_Fuck. Fuck me sideways into next week, I have to talk to him again?!_

 

Frank rushes down the hall, patient notes and audio recorder clutched in his shaking hands, moving like a whirlwind of anger and fear towards Gerard Way's room in the institution.

 

Four times now, he's failed to get any useable info from the killer. Four times, he's been tirelessly flirted with and tormented in two hour increments, only to get useless audio footage of the man calling him “darling” and refusing to answer questions for his troubles. Today he's gonna get _something_ , though. He knows it.

 

He feels a lot less sure when he enters Gerard's room, and sees the hauntingly charming man himself standing beside his bed with a serene look on his pale face. One of his arms is slowly inching over his head, and through some elaborate ducking motions, he gets that hand free from the crossed-arm style bondage of his straitjacket. “Oh. Good afternoon, Frankie, my love,” He hums with a small laugh as he continues to maneuver himself out of the jacket, like it's just totally normal and reasonable for him to be doing so.

 

Frank gapes, but can't make himself move to stop the man. “Mr. Way, y-you can't-”

 

“I am, though, sweetheart. Now then, why don't you be a good boy and help me with these straps?” Gerard requests, with a smile that makes Frank shudder, toes curling with discomfort and unease inside his shoes.

 

“Thi-this is-”

 

Gerard interrupts him again. “I suppose I'll be doing it myself, then?” He sighs out, arms straining as he works at the straps with way too much ease. Like he's memorized how to escape one of these things. “I really don't think I deserve to be in one of these. I'm certainly not at risk of trying to kill myself, and I'm kept isolated from everyone but you and my nurse, so who do they think I'll be hurting if I'm not bound up?”

 

“It's just a precaution, M-Mr. Way-”

 

“It's ridiculous, isn't it, my darling?” Gerard asks with a smile that means ‘you'd better agree or you'll regret it’.

 

Frank nods feebly, a feeling of powerlessness falling over him from Gerard's words and tone alone. “Y-yeah…. Guess so….” He murmurs. He feels, honestly, like Gerard is trying to put him in his place. Frank had gotten a little tense and temperamental at his patient during their last talk, and it seems like Gerard wants to remind him he shouldn't do that. Frank's stomach twists with terror and something else he won't acknowledge at the mere thought of what his patient has planned.

 

Gerard doesn't answer his murmured words, only silently works his jacket the rest of the way off, letting it fall to the floor, and exposing his pale, unmarked arms and standard uniform of a drab white top, to go with his drab white pants. “I really hate these clothes,” He remarks absently, before seating himself on his bed like everything's fine.

 

Frank stares uneasily at him from the corner of the room where the door is. “I-I'm going to let this…. This jacket thing slide, f-for today. But you have to swear to me that you won't… try anything. And that you'll put it back on _before_ our time today is up. You have no clue how much trouble I could get into for this, Mr. Way.” He sighs and clicks the audio recorder on once he's stopped speaking.

 

“I promise to all of the above, my darling Frankie,” Gerard says, with a sweet smile that gives Frank genuine chills. “What do you want to force out of me today, then, hm?”

 

Frank swallows heavily. “I'm not forcing you to say anything, Mr. Way. It would just be nice if for once, you'd give me a straight answer.” Oh, fuck, that second sentence came out passive aggressive. Gerard isn't going to take well to that.

 

He's right, he doesn't. Gerard's expression darkens, his eyes are full of anger, despite the smile still plastered on his face. “Darling, just because I don't answer exactly how the criminal psych textbooks told you I would doesn't mean I'm not giving straight answers. Now, I think it would be wise for you to adjust that obstinate attitude of yours before I have to remind you where you stand, pretty.”

 

“I didn't mean to sound-”

 

“Yes, you absolutely did, don't lie to me,” Gerard says firmly, giving him a look. A look that makes Frank's knees weak and his body start to quiver with fear and…. He realizes what other than fear he's feeling.

 

This should not turn him on. God, he's sick.

 

“I'm really sorry, I just- I really need answers, okay? So could you please, _please_ be a little less cryptic?”

 

Gerard's eyes almost seem to gleam when Frank starts to beg. “I have been giving you very honest truths, sugar. Everything I say makes it obvious, doesn't it?”

 

“Makes _what_ obvious?” Frank asks, voice tight and short of breath as he tenses up in anticipation of actually learning something about his patient.

 

Gerard laughs, a soft, raspy, giggly sort of laugh that makes Frank shiver. “I'll tell you if you do one or two little things for me, my love. Can you be a good boy and promise me you'll do what I ask?”

 

“I-I can, yes, sure, that's- that's fine,” Frank says in a rush. He knows he'll probably regret this, but he's really not thinking straight.

 

“First, I need you to turn off that recording thing in your shirt pocket. What I'm going to tell you is very, _very_ personal, and I don't want my voice as I tell you to be heard by anyone but you.”

 

Like an idiot, Frank obeys.

 

“Next, I want you to be a good boy and pick my jacket up off the floor, and bring it to me.”

 

Like an even bigger idiot, Frank obeys again.

 

He doesn't know how he didn't see this from a mile away, didn't see Gerard grabbing the straitjacket from him in a swift movement, and forcibly pushing him up against the wall with one hand, that same thin hand gripping his wrists, holding them tight above his head and leaving him physically powerless as well as mentally. “M-Mr. Way, please, you c-can’t-”

 

Gerard's grin becomes wicked, eyes shining with sadism, but his voice sounds as sweet and flirty as ever. “You know, Frankie, my sweetheart, you were crazy to ever believe me. Crazier than yours truly, even. So crazy, in fact, I think you're a bit of a risk to yourself, wouldn't you agree?”

 

Frank finds himself nodding, finds himself being passive and submissive _just because Gerard wants it_ , stomach turning at how easily he gives up.

 

“I thought so. I think we're going to have to restrain you for the rest of this session, sugar. Just to make sure that a fragile, helpless little thing like you doesn't wind up hurt,” Gerard coos sweetly, lips dangerously, frighteningly close to Frank's own.

 

Frank stares at his patient with wide, frightened eyes, words he can't quite form bubbling at the top of his throat but not coming out, replaced by pathetic whimperings as his body is manhandled into the bondage of the straitjacket.

 

“There we are, there's a good boy….” Gerard soothes, soft words accompanied by the rough yanks of him tightening every buckle on the jacket. One particularly rough tighten of one of the straps hooking between Frank's legs has him fucking _moaning_ , choked and needy as he sways helplessly into Gerard.

 

He tries, really tries to blame his arousal, and the growing erection in his pants on the fact that he hasn't had sex in a really long time, but knows it's more than just being sexually pent up that has him worked up like this. It's Gerard that has him melting into a whimpering mess, that can control him and push his buttons and get in his head and have him practically eating out of the palm of his hand.

 

Frank's afraid, and that only seems to aid in how turned on he is. He's completely at the mercy of someone who poses an immense threat to him, who could kill him. And that someone is doing nothing more than working him up, making a mess of him. He cries out softly when Gerard's lips close over his, struggling in the straitjacket, only to crumble way too easily, eyes fluttering shut and breathy, gasping whines spilling from his lips.

 

“Aa-ah, Gerard, _please_ , I… I _can't_ , this- this isn't…!” Frank manages pathetically, struggling to form words with Gerard kissing him practically every time he tries to breathe again. _This isn't right_ , that's what he wants to say. This can't happen, but he _wants_ it. It hurts, hurts so, so bad to resist the magnetic pull of Gerard's touches and kisses, he can't resist, even the thought of doing so _hurts_. He whines when Gerard makes him move from the wall, his quivering voice producing drawn out and helpless sounds that silence into nothing more than unsteady gasps when he takes a very guided stumble and falls into his patient's lap on the bed.

 

Gerard smiles like Christmas came early and Frank is his shiny new toy ( _I am his toy_ , part of Frank's mind points out pitifully), leaving kisses on his wreck of a doctor's jaw and lips and throat, the straitjacket unfortunately hiding his lower neck from being marked. “Such an obedient little doll, and you're all mine, aren't you Frankie?” He purrs into his doctor's ear with a wicked smile, nipping at his earlobe with malicious, possessive playfulness .

 

Frank nods, flushing red from the tips of his ears all the way down to his neck, past the collar of the jacket confining him. Gerard smiles proudly at what he's done to Frank, cupping one side of his face with his hand, and leading him into a breath-stealing kiss. A mix of pleasure and fear runs through his body stronger than ever when Gerard's hand slips from his cheek down to his neck, graceful, thin artist's fingers wrapping around his throat. He gasps, breathy and cut off, body quivering as he can't get the air he needs, and he tries to fight against him, unable to even do that with his arms bound to him so, so tight.

 

There's this _look_ in Gerard's eyes, this look of focus, like he's trying to make something with Frank's pain, trying to tie everything together and make art of him, and Frank has this feeling that he's guaranteed to die.

 

Funny, that should be turning him off.

 

It's fucking _not_. God, he's a sick fuck.

 

He shuts his eyes tight till he feels breath being allowed to circulate through him again, Gerard's hand leaving his throat, and both his hands working suddenly at the straps on the jacket. Frank thinks, foolishly, that he's being let out.

 

No such luck, Gerard just has to undo the straps between his legs to get him out of his pants. He yanks the straps back into place again once he's completed that task, leaving Frank's aching cock straining obscenely against his body between the two straps.

 

“Y-you can't seriously plan on- a-ah… mmh….” Frank's complaints trail off into pathetic moans when Gerard's fingers press into his open mouth, pressing against his tongue and eliciting shudders and gasps in return.

 

“I can, and I do, my dear,” Gerard says with a smile, “I've told you before, you're just my type, sweetheart, and I guess… I guess I just can't resist you any longer….” His voice becomes a low whisper that sends pleasure and fear surging through Frank's body, making him whine desperately around the digits between his kiss-reddened lips. “So you just need to be a good boy for me and take what I give you. Is that clear, darling?”

 

Frank nods, borderline fucking delirious at this point. His head is swimming with pleasure, he can hardly think, he just wants to be so _good_ , to be praised for his needy efforts. So he lets Gerard push him face-down onto the bed beneath him, still taking his fingers like a good boy, since he hasn't been told to stop. Gerard uses his free hand to guide his hips up, before drawing his saliva-soaked digits from Frank's lips. Frank barely has the time to utter a confused “wha…?” sort of noise, before one of Gerard's fingers is pressing inside him, the pathetic excuse for lube that is his own spit not alleviating most of the burn of going in essentially dry.

 

“A-ah! It _hurts_ , pl- _ease_ , thi-this hurts, ahh…!” Frank cries, hands clenching into useless fists inside the straitjacket sleeves as he lets out strained, needy noises.

 

Gerard hums soothingly, murmuring about how it'll be okay, how the pain will get better soon, and Frank just _melts_. He knows Gerard is using his sweet words to get what he wants, that he's selfish and he doesn't really care about Frank's well-being, but he can't help falling for it, he genuinely _can't_ resist him. And so he fucking melts, turns into a whimpering mess that can't even function, that would just break if taken away from Gerard while he's like this.

 

He feels Gerard's free hand on the back of his ankle, hooking into the back of his shoe and pulling it and his sock off, and doing the same on the other foot, tossing them to the floor, much to his confusion. “Can't have you kicking me and doing major damage, now can we, darling?” Gerard purrs in explanation, not expecting an answer.

 

“I-I wouldn't fucking kick you, you sick fuck- O- _oh_ my God, _please_ …!” Frank's rare but strong defiant attitude tries to rear its head, only to be pushed back down by the overwhelming feeling of Gerard fucking him open on his hand, with a second finger joining the first. The sensation has his mouth hanging open in a drawn out gasping whine for longer than he wishes it did and has him rutting pathetically down into the bed like some kind of desperate nympho.

 

Gerard laughs, honestly fucking laughs at his desperation, at how ruined he is. “Such a pretty boy…. So helpless, you need me to take care of you, don't you?”

 

Frank manages to rasp out a small “yes” and nod his head weakly, too lost in pleasure to do anything more. He just closes his eyes and takes what Gerard gives him, moaning as the man continues to tell him wretchedly filthy things.

 

He's able to get by on that too, till Gerard's fingers hit _that spot_ inside him, the spot that makes him scream out briefly and nearly lift his whole body off the mattress to get more contact. “ _Please_ , God, please just- a-ah! Fuck, fuck me!” Frank nearly sobs in pleasure, wondering in the back of his mind how he's ever going to handle _actually_ being fucked, when fingers alone have him a screaming, writhing mess.

 

“That's right sweetheart, be a good boy and tell me what you need, use your words,” Gerard urges calmly, and though Frank has his face pressed into the bed, he can hear the man's smirk.

 

“Pleaseplease _please_ , just fuck me, touch me, I’ll- ah, _ah_!- I-I’ll do anything you sa-say, God, I s-swear I will!” Frank babbles, borderline unintelligibly, “I-I'll be so good, _please_!” He doesn't know what the fuck he's saying, or what's even happening, he's just so lost and so needy and he needs to come from something more than fingers.

 

Suddenly, the digits that have been fucking into him are pulled out, leaving him open and gasping uselessly. He hears the rustle of fabric as Gerard undresses, before he's yanked up into his patient's lap by a roughly grabbed handful of his hair and a hand bruisingly grabbing his hip, forcing him to settle so that he's supporting himself on weak and widely spread legs, the head of Gerard's hard-on pressing against his ill-prepared entrance. Frank whines, murmuring a soft and breathy “ _please_ ” and craning his neck to gaze up at Gerard through his eyelashes. His legs are shaking so, so bad as he lowers himself, lets himself be filled so full that tears spill out at the corners of his eyes, wishing he could use his arms for support. But of course, he can't.

 

“There we go, good boy, such a good little slut,” Gerard praises, and Frank sucks in a sharp breath at his words. He hates that being called nasty things gets to him like it does. He hates that it makes him whine and shiver, the soft noise turning into a cry as Gerard tugs his hair, tilting his head to the side, kissing at his throat, kissing at his jaw as he lowers himself on aching, out-of-shape legs till he finally bottoms out, borderline sobbing at the feeling of being so, so full.

 

Frank groans in a mix of ecstasy and agony at the feeling of Gerard fucking up into him. It's too slow, he wants more, rougher, but at the same time, he fears he couldn't take such an assault on his body without breaking. It hurts, hurts so _good_ , has him sobbing for more without even a conscious thought. Gerard's kisses are rough and messy, and Frank wonders if he's going to have fucking jaw hickeys when he stumbles out of the room in due time.

 

The obscene sensation of Gerard sucking at the soft but defined line of his jaw confirms that he's going to look so, so wrecked. Just the thought has Frank letting out a gasping sob, the noise rising to a high pitched keening sound when Gerard thrusts up into him with a fucking _purpose_. He clenches his fists tightly in his sleeves again, mouth falling open in a wordless cry as the man lazily wraps his free hand (the one not yanking his hair) around Frank's untouched, aching, dripping cock, starting to slowly pump his fist up and down.

 

Frank's eyes go crossed and roll back into his head from the overwhelming assault on his sense of touch, his mouth continuing to hang open in obscene sounds of pleasure. A string of saliva hangs from the tip of his tongue, completing the completely, absurdly pornographic look. He tries to beg a few times, but can barely manage to string together coherent syllables- much less words- the harder Gerard fucks up into him. Finally, he manages something that sounds a little like “please lemme come”, voice completely wrecked from near screaming.

 

“Go on, pretty, come for me, be a good boy,” Gerard urges with a sick smile, and it's mere seconds before Frank is coming all over himself with a sob, arching and writhing on his cock and pushing his hips down fervently.

 

He feels like he's gonna fucking die when Gerard keeps fucking into him, through his orgasm and into oversensitivity. His brain has essentially turned into fucked-out sludge in his head by the time Gerard comes inside him with a soft “fuck!”, hot and wet and forcing a short lived scream from Frank's wrecked vocal chords before he blanks out on the world around him.

 

Frank doesn't come out of his stupor till he hears his alarm beeping on his wrist, by which point, he's laid on the bed, dressed again and extricated from the straitjacket, Gerard sitting beside him in the unbuckled garment like nothing's happened.

 

The only things keeping Frank from believing he didn't pass out and dream all that up are the fact that he has to (extra tightly, just to be safe) buckle Gerard back into the jacket (garnering a deceptively kindly “thank you, my darling” from his patient), and the... unsavory stains on the jacket, and stench of sex in the room.

 

Frank leaves the room with a very quiet “good afternoon, Mr. Way”, and a nauseous feeling in his stomach under all the lingering pleasure.

 

_What am I doing to myself?_


End file.
